


close encounters of the nerd kind

by seditonem



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, mentions of past Wells/Clarke, not-actual-sex-but-nearly, proximity curse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:32:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seditonem/pseuds/seditonem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'“Out for a stroll and some light vomiting?”</p><p>Clarke looked up at Bellamy, prepared to trade insults for as long as it took him to leave her alone, but found herself staring instead. He looked how she felt – clammy, sweaty, sick. His fringe was stuck to his forehead and his cheeks were flushed.' </p><p>aka, clarke and bellamy get saddled with a proximity curse - they can't be more than 5 feet apart. (canon divergent - set after earth skills, ignoring the rest of the series.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	close encounters of the nerd kind

**Author's Note:**

> i really hate when things i start writing as a joke end up as long things. apologies if there are mistakes, i never use a beta.

A sharp pain in the bottom of her stomach woke her. It wasn’t like cramps, Clarke thought, trying to analyse it despite her musty, sleep-fogged brain. It was more like a pinched nerve, the kind of unbearable pain in one particular spot that made her feel nauseous and dizzy. She rolled onto her side, crawling out of her tent on all fours to see if fresh air and movement wouldn’t help her.

 

It didn’t, she realised, as she managed to make it to the outskirts of the camp just in time to throw up in the relative privacy of foliage.

 

“Sucks to be you, huh,” she muttered at a small lizard that hadn’t quite got out of the way in time. It gave her a hard stare and disappeared. Clarke braced her hands on her knees and tried to breathe deeply. The pain obeyed and receded. She was about to feel victorious (and annoyed that she’d presumably had her first ever case of food poisoning) when a horrifically familiar voice reached her ears.

 

“Out for a stroll and some light vomiting?”

 

Clarke looked up at Bellamy, prepared to trade insults for as long as it took him to leave her alone, but found herself staring instead. He looked how she felt – clammy, sweaty, sick. His fringe was stuck to his forehead and his cheeks were flushed.

 

“You too?” she asked, standing up slowly. The world around her had steadied and her stomach wasn’t threatening to disobey her again, she noticed.

 

“Must’ve been the meat,” he shrugged, and Clarke rolled her eyes. The jaguar-like creature hadn’t tasted that bad.

 

“I don’t see anyone else throwing up, so it can’t have been that,” she told him, trying not to sound too exasperated. Bellamy shrugged.

 

“Maybe they’re all just being really quiet about it.”

 

Clarke wanted to hit him, but that would probably give him an excuse to tear her bracelet off, somehow. Come to think of it, who was to say Murphy wasn’t lurking in the bushes nearby, ready to pounce? She arranged her features into a mask of disapproval and made to stalk off. He might have saved her life but he was still an asshole. One redeeming feature didn’t make a hero, her mom had always said.

 

“Hey, Clarke,” Bellamy called after her, but she didn’t bother to turn around to see what he wanted. He didn’t follow her, which was great for all of two seconds, after which the pain abruptly returned and she bent double. Her vision blurred, leaving her lost, and she fell to her knees, heaving again.

 

“Clarke?” His voice sounded weaker now, and Clarke realised he’d thrown up as well. She clawed her way back in his general direction, wiping her mouth on her sleeve and hoping she didn’t smell too bad. “Is it getting better again for you?” he asked, and she made a weak noise of agreement.

 

“I don’t know what this is,” she admitted, as his face came into focus again. “Are you having the vision problems?” He nodded.

 

“I can see again now, can you?” She made a noise of agreement, looking grimly at the rest of the camp. “No one else seems to be affected.”

 

“Great,” she muttered. “This is the last thing we need.” When he shot her a confused look she sighed and tried to explain. “Murphy’s going to think it was something I did, Wells is going to think it was something Murphy did, Finn is going to think it’s some kind of weird way for you to get me to take my bracelet off, and no one else is going to do anything at all to help.”

 

Bellamy seemed affronted. “Do you think if this was my plan to get your bracelet off, _I’d_ be throwing up as well?”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t know your methods. You like a little chaos, if rumours are correct.”

 

“Chaos and nausea are two very different things, princess,” Bellamy said, spitting into the treeline and standing up. Clarke followed, because she didn’t like being that much shorter than him. “I think it’s over now.”

 

“Yeah,” she muttered, sticking her hands in her jacket pockets and regarding the camp. “Sleep … well?” She wasn’t exactly sure how to address him.

 

“Whatever,” he shrugged, stalking off away from her, sticky hair pushed up at all angles and jacket sleeves rolled up.

 

Clarke had a moment to reflect on the fact that he still looked a bit shaky, and then they were both throwing up again.

 

“Quarantine,” she managed to say after a while. “We should really be in quarantine.”

 

“After you,” Bellamy acquiesced, from his foetal position on the ground.

 

* * *

 

By morning it was apparent that while neither of them found it particularly easy to stomach having to spend time together, spending time apart only led to dry heaving.

 

Bellamy made a joke about weak gag reflexes and Clarke resisted the urge to kick him in the shins. She didn’t want to sink to his level just yet.

 

“That applies to both of us, y’know,” she reminded him.

 

“Let the joke play, Clarke,” he sighed heavily, taking a few steps backwards. They’d established a five foot rule, after which it became difficult to see clearly; six feet meant extreme nausea, seven meant vomiting and a muscle-shaking abdominal pain.

 

Clarke ignored him in favour of checking where her knife was again. If they were going to be in close contact she needed some way to prevent him removing the bracelet, especially with Murphy lurking like a bad smell all the time.

 

They were sitting in the top floor of the exodus ship as the dawn broke, both wrapped in blankets to stop the shaking that dehydration and hunger was causing. Finn and Miller had gone to fetch some more water, and Wells and Murphy circled each other like hungry predators outside, watching for weakness.

 

“Would you sit the hell down already?” Bellamy called down the hatch. “It’s exhausting watching the two of you hate each other so much.”

 

Clarke stifled a smile and sipped the last of the water they had, wiggling her toes to keep them warm in the metal cavern. She didn’t particularly want to think about what the hell they were going to do next, but it was clearly something they had to discuss.

 

“We’re going to need to figure this out,” she said, eventually. Bellamy raised his eyebrows, amused.

 

“You think?” he asked, sarcastically. “It seriously limits our options.”

 

“Let’s retrace our steps from yesterday,” Clarke suggested, trying not to get riled up. “There must be something we did that no one else did.”

 

Bellamy’s expression hardly changed, but Clarke knew exactly what he was thinking. “I don’t know about you, princess, but – ”

 

“Just don’t,” Clarke warned, getting to her feet. “Say another word and I’ll break the five foot rule.”

 

“Careful, Clarke,” Bellamy said, standing up to face her. “Don’t start a war here.” He moved slowly towards her, matching each step, and Wells started climbing up the ladder as if to get involved.

 

“Don’t you take another damn step,” he warned Bellamy, only to be shouldered out the way by Murphy.

 

“Watch yourself, Chancellor,” Murphy reminded him, “you’ve only got one good leg, remember? Would hate for you to have another accident.” Their voices were half muffled by the distance and metal.

 

“Both of you need to get out of here right now,” Clarke interjected; “it’s a quarantine, remember?”

 

“Clarke, c’mon, if we’re not ill yet then there’s hardly a chance we’ll get infected,” Wells cut back, voice echoing in the shuttle. She hated to admit it, but he did have a point.  

 

Bellamy made a noise of vague frustration and a hand-wavy gesture, turning away. “Now’s not the time to take risks,” he said over his shoulder. “We need to figure this out. I can’t give orders with one of the privileged on a five foot leash.” He shot her a glance. “No offense.”

 

“None taken,” Clarke snorted. “I can’t heal Jasper with an unpredictable liability hovering around.”

 

They stared at each other for a minute, and then Bellamy’s lips quirked into a smile.

 

“Aw, princess, I never knew you felt that way about me.”

 

* * *

 

The day that followed was a strange minefield of negotiation over whose tasks had higher priority. Clarke had to keep treating Jasper, whose condition was too serious for her to allow anyone else to get near him. He rolled in and out of consciousness, alternately screaming and moaning, and by afternoon Clarke was at breaking point.

 

“We need herbs for him,” she fumed, standing between Jasper and Bellamy, who looked like he was about to murder someone.

 

“He is driving everyone _crazy_ ,” Bellamy seethed. There were dark circles under his eyes and he still looked ill, despite the fruit Monty had managed to find for them.

 

“Fine, fine – look, let’s both go,” Clarke suggested, holding up her hands when Bellamy tried to barge past her. “You can get some peace and quiet and I can get what he needs, and we’re both staying away from the others.”

 

Bellamy’s jaw tightened for a moment, then he shut his eyes and let out a long breath. “Whatever,” he muttered, turning to Murphy, who still lurked outside the doorway despite Clarke’s angry and repeated protestations. “If we’re not back by morning, kill him.”

 

Clarke wanted to object, but Bellamy grabbed her arm and started walking.

 

“Hey, not so fast,” Finn broke in, tugging Clarke’s hand, and she felt suddenly torn. “I’m coming with you. There are others out there.”

 

“No, I need you to make sure no one gets to Jasper,” she reminded him, pulling her hand away from his. “Plus, we’re contaminated. Or, something, I don’t know.” She thought about the two-headed deer in her pocket and tried to gather some strength from it, but it just made her feel more tired. “I can handle him.”

 

“I’m sure she means that to sound reassuring,” Bellamy commented, giving a pointed tug on her elbow; “but I doubt you’d know how to begin.”

 

“Don’t start what you can’t finish,” Clarke shot back, and then pulled a face at herself. What kind of a retort was that?

 

“You need to be more creative with your comebacks,” he sighed, pulling her away from Finn and towards the forest. “It’s no fun otherwise.”

 

* * *

 

After what felt like hours of looking, Bellamy finally bothered to ask what she was searching for. Clarke leant heavily against a nearby tree and rested her forehead on the bark.

 

“A willow tree,” she sighed. “The bark has pain-relieving properties. I thought you’d at least know that.”

 

“Earth skills wasn’t my specialty,” Bellamy grinned, picking a fern distractedly.

 

“You have a specialty?” Clarke asked blithely, and his grin disappeared.

 

“One week’s water rations says you can’t summarise Cicero’s last speech,” Bellamy challenged, and the idea of it was so ridiculous that Clarke couldn’t help laughing. Tears streamed down her face as the chuckle turned into hysteria, and then she found herself clutching desperately at the tree to stay upright.

 

“Cicero?” she panted, when she’d got control again.

 

Bellamy folded his arms, looking put out. Clarke held her hands up in surrender. “Right, well, your mom had weird priorities.”

 

“Don’t talk about my mom.”

 

She flinched, realising she’d made a mistake. “Sorry,” Clarke murmured, wiping away the moisture on her face. She tried to meet his gaze but he wouldn’t look her way, so she did the only thing she could think of and rested her hand on his arm. “My dad was floated too.”

 

“Yeah? What did he do?” He didn’t even sound interested, really, she thought, but she told him anyway.

 

“He just tried to do what he thought was the right thing. Same as your mom.”

 

“I just told you, Clarke,” Bellamy said, heavily. “Don’t talk about my mom.”

 

Clarke let go of his arm, but not fast enough – he pushed her hand away roughly, his fingers warm against the skin of her wrist, and she shivered. Her whole body felt better, like she’d just woken from a spectacularly good night’s sleep. The look of shock on his face told her something similar had happened to him too, and they both stepped back quickly.

 

“I guess the closer we get the better we feel,” Bellamy mused, and Clarke pushed past him further into the forest.

 

“In your dreams,” she spat, and tried not to hear the sound of his laughter as he followed her.  

 

* * *

 

Having established Bellamy Blake as a closet academic with maternal issues, Clarke turned her attention to keeping him at arm’s length (provided the arm was not five feet long) and trying to figure out what to do about Jasper. They found willow bark eventually – no help from Bellamy there – and while it seemed to ease the pain a little there wasn’t much else she could do under the circumstances. She disinfected the wound as best she could, but in reality he needed to break the fever before anything else could happen.

 

“You need to get some sleep,” Bellamy reminded her, as the night drew on. He’d been standing over her for the whole time since they’d returned, and she was getting tired of his eyes on her every move.

 

“I’ll take the first watch,” she offered, resting her hand on Jasper’s forehead to try and cool him. The idea of quarantine had sort of disappeared, along with the idea of ever having a wash on this absurd planet.

 

“Nice try. Spacewalker can keep an eye on him, I’m not sleeping in this wreck with some dumb kid doing ghost impressions – we’re setting up a tent.” Clarke grumbled, but a bed sounded like the best idea anyone had ever had to her, so she followed him to the tent he’d been using. She was stumbling with exhaustion, but between the two of them they managed to set up a rudimentary screen to divide the space into two.

 

Clarke tried to listen to what he was saying, but all the words blurred together. She snapped back to attention when Bellamy’s hand closed around her wrist.

 

“Are you even listening to me?” Bellamy asked, exasperated.

 

“Stay away from my bracelet,” she snapped, embarrassed to be caught off guard, and angry at the same time because she suddenly felt better than she had since he’d last touched her.   

 

“I’ve got no interest in your bracelet!” Bellamy shouted, and then looked shocked at the volume of his own voice. “Oh, forget it,” he muttered, and stalked off behind the partition.

 

“Already forgotten,” Clarke said, to the empty space he left behind.

 

“And work on your comebacks!” she heard him say through the fabric. Clarke rolled her eyes and went to bed.

 

* * *

 

And so it went. They’d wake up, test the five foot rule, try not to throw up, check for grounders, help Jasper, make sure Murphy hadn’t done anything reckless – the usual.

 

Clarke sort of grew used to it. It was familiar, and after a while she got used to Bellamy’s constant protestations whenever Octavia went off with Atom – though she did have to threaten him with testing the rule when he wanted to follow them. But there was still one thing that got to her.  

 

The first time he’d done it she’d been annoyed, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t expected it. Bellamy took a lot of girls back to his tent, sometimes more than one at a time. Honestly, she would’ve been some kind of a fool to think that just because they were stuck with this dumb curse - she couldn’t think of another word for the fact that they were somehow forced to stay within five feet of each other on pain of, well, _extreme pain_ \- he’d stop doing that. Or them.

 

But after the second time Clarke began to get the feeling he wasn’t doing it to piss her off anymore. The partition in their tent was thick enough that she couldn’t see anything, but she could damn well hear it all.

 

The sound of his breath catching every few thrusts. The slide of skin against skin, the slick sound of his dick as he thrust into whichever girl he’d brought back this time.

 

(Clarke knew exactly who it was, because she’d had to follow him at the maximum space they could be apart, all the way back to the tent. For the second night running.)

 

The strange feeling persisted as Clarke realised he wasn’t really going anywhere with it, more just stringing the whole act out; occasionally the girl would moan or there’d be the rustle of blankets, but it didn’t sound like they were having a fantastic time.

 

Clarke smirked. She got up, walked to the edge of the partition, and pulled it back.

 

"The fuck are you staring at?" The girl looked annoyed, pulling covers over her chest.

 

"Oh, so sorry," Clarke sighed, trying to get just the right amount of insincerity into her tone; "I didn’t realise there was anyone in here."

 

She watched Bellamy’s face for any clues. He sat back on the bed, not bothering to cover himself, and rested his hands on his knees.

 

"Something you need?" he asked, lightly.  

 

Clarke gave him a thorough once-over, then shrugged. “Think I’m good, thanks.” She let the fabric drop without a second glance, and then stood close to listen.

 

Bellamy swore, and then Clarke heard the girl in bed with him slap his arm. “Was that for her?” she hissed, and the sounds of rustling fabric and louder curses heralded her exit. Clarke covered her mouth with both hands to stop herself from laughing out loud.

 

The partition was flung back unexpectedly, and she hardly had time to step backwards before Bellamy was right in front of her, his skin still slick with sweat, hair pushed back at odd angles. He looked furious.

 

"That was uncalled for," he warned her.

 

"Then don’t force me to listen to you screwing your way around camp," she bit back, crossing her arms across her chest.

 

"I’m not forcing you - you’re the one who got us into this fucking curse in the first place."  

 

"Nice try, neither of us has a goddamn clue what’s happened to us," Clarke snapped, rolling her eyes, and tried to push past him. He grabbed her shoulder, the smell of him harsh in the air around her. Her clothes were going to smell like him - they already did, she suddenly realised. "Is there a reason why you’re holding my shoulder?" she asked, bemused.

 

Bellamy was silent for a few seconds, and then sighed, tracing his hand along the curve of her neck until she shivered. “Not really,” he admitted, though it sounded like he knew exactly why.

 

But she wasn’t going to think about that just yet. “You should get some sleep,” she reminded him, trying not to look back at the way she knew his jaw was clenching. "Especially after your _exertions_." His hand was still on her shoulder, practically burning a hole through the fabric of her shirt.

 

(His jaw always did that, that tiny muscle jump. She’d seen it so many times now.)

 

"Yeah," he muttered, after a moment, and finally his hand dropped back down to his side. "You too."

 

Clarke let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding when he was gone. Their tent was quiet, but in her head all she could hear was the sounds from before, the bitten-off moans, the sound of him as he’d fucked into the girl.

 

This was getting out of hand, Clarke reflected. Something clearly had to be done. She stood in the semi-darkness, straining to hear his breathing, and then mentally slapped herself.

 

Some _one_ had to be done. There was only one thing for it.

 

* * *

 

Finn had been sulking ever since she’d decided to play nice with Bellamy and while that was completely understandable, it didn’t work well with Clarke’s strategy. She tried to catch his attention all through the next day, but rather than making him come closer it only served to make Bellamy stay within what was clearly a much smaller distance than necessary.

 

“It’s a five foot rule, not five inch,” Clarke snapped, her patience waning. Bellamy took an exaggerated step backwards.

 

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” he sing-songed at her. Clarke wanted to ask how the hell he knew that, but then remembered his sister was called Octavia and didn’t bother. Closet academic, she reminded herself.

 

She cornered Finn that evening, using the few minutes that Bellamy was engaged with moonshine and two girls she didn’t know very well to duck out of his line of vision.

 

“You’re avoiding me,” she pointed out, and Finn shrugged heavily.

 

“Didn’t want to get in the way,” he said, staring over her shoulder. She didn’t need to look to know who he was looking at.

 

“You’re not in the way,” she sighed, knocking her elbow against his as she sat down next to him. “It’s just been difficult recently.” He leaned into her slightly and she couldn’t help smiling.

 

“I missed talking to you,” Finn said. He sounded so incredibly earnest she almost laughed.

 

The line _I don’t want to talk_ was on the tip of her tongue, all ready to go, when Bellamy appeared in front of her.

 

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, like it wasn’t obvious. Clarke raised her eyebrows and gave him her best stare, but she’d used it so many times on him in the past few days that he appeared impervious. “Careful of this one, she’s a handful,” Bellamy winked, and went back to the fire. The line of his shoulders was tense, Clarke noticed, and then tried to forget the thought.

 

As the evening wore on, she became increasingly aware that he was watching her as she tried to keep talking. The feel of his eyes on her made the back of her neck prickle with warmth, and eventually she stalked over to him, fed up.

 

“Stop staring at me,” she warned him, leaning in close so the girl to his side didn’t hear.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, princess,” he replied breezily, and Clarke grit her teeth.

 

“I mean it. Or maybe I’ll accidentally walk in on you again tonight.”

 

Bellamy’s expression clouded and he stood up abruptly. “Fine,” he challenged, “how about we both go to sleep angry, then?”

 

“Well, someone needs to take the watch.” She crossed her arms over her chest and realised he was doing the same thing. They stood awkwardly in exactly the same stance for a second, and he broke first.

 

“Miller can take over from us when we get tired,” he said eventually, turning away. “Let’s just get started.”

 

They sat in stony silence on the watch for what felt like an epoch, staring out into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

When Miller eventually did take over from them – short replies indicating he was as fed up as them – Clarke walked faster than Bellamy back to the tent, then pulled her boots off in jerky, angry motions and stuffed herself under covers, not bothering to say goodnight.

 

“Sweet dreams,” Bellamy muttered through the partition, turning the light out, and Clarke lay fuming in the dark, thoughts rushing through her mind. The pain was coming back in her abdomen, she realised, and a sudden wave of nausea rushed through her. She sat up quickly, almost tripping over her own feet in her hurry to get to his side of the tent.

 

“Did you - ?”

 

“Yeah,” Bellamy said, huskily. “Yeah, it got worse for me too.” He was half-way out of bed, his shirt thrown haphazardly to one side, and she could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest in the dim light that filtered through the tent’s fabric. They were silent for a moment, neither one willing to turn on the actual lights, or do anything except wait.

 

As usual, Bellamy broke first. Clarke felt secretly pleased.

 

“Come on, then,” he huffed, and even though the light wasn’t bright she knew exactly what expression he was pulling. She made her way slowly over to the mess of blankets that surrounded him, then sat down gingerly by his side. “I won’t bite, princess,” Bellamy sighed, and Clarke made a noise of derision.

 

“Not what I’ve heard,” she murmured, but lay down next to him anyway. They were still for a moment, and then Bellamy tucked a blanket around her. “Thanks,” Clarke added.

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

The pain faded to a distant memory. Clarke hummed with relief and rolled onto her side, falling into sleep almost instantly.

 

* * *

 

It was dark and suffocating in the warmth of the blankets around them but Clarke found she barely cared. The pain had intensified during the night to the point where if she wasn’t pressed up against Bellamy then she couldn’t breathe properly.

 

“Move your elbow,” Clarke whined, shifting against him, and Bellamy tried to arrange his arm so it wasn’t awkwardly pressed between their bodies. That only really left them with the option of her half sprawled across his chest, his ankles locked around one of her legs and his palms splayed across her back.

 

“Better?” Bellamy asked, deadpan. Clarke took a deliberately slow breath in and out and didn’t deign to reply. Her cheeks were flushed hot with embarrassment – sure, she was sure he wasn’t going to want to brag about this either, but she hardly wanted the fact that they were sharing space to avoid being in pain to be common knowledge.

 

“Neither of us says a word about this to anyone, deal?” she asked, speaking more to Bellamy’s shoulder than to him generally. She could feel his muscles move as he laughed.

 

“I’ll take it to my grave,” he promised.  

 

Her boobs were being crushed uncomfortably against him and she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to deal with it. “I have to move,” she warned him, and he made a noise that was a cross between a whine and a no. It was too late, though. She’d already begun moving when she realised why he didn’t want her to.

 

“Don’t say anything,” he warned her, and Clarke tried valiantly to suppress laughter. “I mean it.”

 

“Sure, Bellamy,” she nodded, deliberately rubbing her leg against the hard press of his dick. “I won’t tell anyone how you held me close and justified your existence.”

 

“ _Justified my existence_?” He sounded incensed. Clarke smirked to herself, but then almost yelped with surprise when he pushed her onto her side again, sliding his thigh between her legs so he was pressed up against her. “I can do a little more than justify my existence if you want.”

 

“Bellamy,” she said, warning him just a little. She wasn’t sure what she was warning him against, though – he didn’t touch her more than he had to, no wandering hands, no open-mouthed kisses, no under-clothing touches. She was almost disappointed, she realised. Disappointed, and turned on. The fabric of her underwear was nothing near the kind of friction she really needed, and there was no way to get herself off without it being horrendously obvious to him. Months of solitary confinement had taken their toll on her, but this was a whole new level. Being close to him had opened a Pandora’s box of needs.

 

“Don’t worry, princess, I’ll make sure you get through this with your virtue intact,” Bellamy whispered, his breath against her ear. His dick was impossible to ignore, pressed up hard against the curve of her ass. Clarke felt like she was overheating, her whole body readying her for something she didn’t understand yet. Bellamy’s hand was a solid weight on her waist, his fingers lightly drumming some unknown melody, and then he shifted his thigh between her legs.

 

Clarke shuddered as if electrified, unable to stop herself from grinding down against him. Instead of laughing, Bellamy sucked in a quick breath, like he’d been punched. His hands tightened on her waist, fingertips pressing into her skin.

 

“Clarke,” he warned, quietly, but she couldn’t help herself. He was there, and so hot to touch, and he made her body ache. She undulated against him, pushing her ass against the line of his dick until he buried his face against her shoulder and groaned. “Are you sure about this?” Bellamy asked, scraping his nails over her hips, and Clarke wasn’t sure if she answered him with her mouth or her body first.

 

“I need something,” she whispered into the dark.

 

“Yeah,” he agreed, rubbing against her ass, and this time their moans were in unison. The heat was unbearable, making her shirt stick to her back with sweat, but she didn’t care. She pressed herself closer to his thigh, relishing in the friction of her cotton panties against her clit. Bellamy’s fingers toyed with the hem of her top until she gave up on being subtle and pulled his hand up to grab at her breast.

 

“Just do something,” she told him, and after a moment of silence he kissed down her neck, sucking at the sensitive skin over her pulse. Clarke writhed with pleasure, grabbing at his sweat-slick back in an effort to get him somehow closer to her.

 

“Take off your shirt,” he begged, which proved a lot harder to do than expected since neither of them wanted to be apart for any length of time. Her heart was racing in her chest – surely he could feel it – and she wanted to shout at herself for letting the situation happen. He couldn’t be trusted, she knew, but he was there, and he wasn’t joking about it. He was helping her, however twisted it was. She had to help him too. The need was coiling in her abdomen, all traces of pain gone now, and it dawned on her that they probably no longer needed to be so close. She ignored the thought pointedly.   

 

When they were skin-close Bellamy gave a muffled sigh of relief, fingertips tracing the line of her pants before returning to her chest. She felt oddly grateful that he didn’t press for her to remove any more clothing; she wanted him, but she wasn’t sure fucking him was going to cause anything but trouble. If they could get through this with just touching, then she’d take that option.  

 

“Don’t get any ideas,” she reminded him, still grinding against his thigh, and Bellamy suppressed a laugh.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispered, worrying her neck again with the barest hint of teeth as he flicked her nipple through the cup of her bra.

 

“Mm, again,” she found herself saying, shocked at the wanton sound of her own voice. Bellamy swore, and to her annoyance instead of obeying her, he turned her around. His breath was like a brand on her jaw, their arms awkwardly tangled between them, and he hitched her leg up over his hips.

 

“This is an utter disaster,” he told her, very seriously, reaching down to press the seam of her pants against her clit so that she whimpered, feeling the muscles of her cunt contract around nothing. “I could make you come if you take these off,” Bellamy continued, his voice coaxing now, and Clarke raked her nails down his back in warning.

 

“Nice try,” she bit out, even though she was pretty sure she was as desperate as he was. Bellamy grumbled to himself, pressing his face against her neck, and rolled them so she was straddling him. Clarke wanted to thank him for the better position, but she was more concerned with the fact that her underwear was pretty much soaked through. Sweat was making her hair stick to her neck and forehead, and as if he could hear her thoughts Bellamy reached up and pushed her hair back, twisting it away as he kissed down her cleavage. “Thanks,” she murmured, her back arching as he pulled the straps of her bra down and traced circles around her nipple with his tongue. His hands returned to her hips, aligning them so she could feel every inch of his dick against her folds.

 

What would it be like to fuck him? She wondered, fisting her hands in his hair as she rocked against him. Would he make her moan, would he stretch her out over the bed and fuck her slowly until she could barely move with want? Probably, her mind answered for her, as he returned to mouth at her pulse-point. She was going to have a mark there, that much was obvious. “Quit biting me,” Clarke insisted, and Bellamy huffed, falling back against the pillow.

 

“I can’t bite you, I can’t fuck you – please, princess, enlighten me as to what I _can_ do,” he sighed, stilling her hips when she tried to continue riding him.

 

Clarke found herself at a loss for words. She tried to convey wordlessly to him what she wanted, but she wasn’t sure anymore. He flicked the button of her pants open, as if testing the waters, and when she didn’t protest he undid the zip and eased her onto her back. When she’d helped with removal of her pants he tugged off her panties, throwing them in the general direction of the partition. Clarke struggled out of her bra, hoping he couldn’t see her expression too clearly. She’d tried this once with Wells – and that had been one heck of a mistake – but he made no move to take off his own underwear, even though she could see the rounded head of his dick was pushing at the elastic of his boxers.

 

When she was naked he pushed her shoulders until she lay down, then spread her legs and licked straight into her without any warning. Clarke almost shrieked, her hands grabbing at his hair instantly, and shuddered when he moaned against her clit.

 

“Careful!” he warned her, and she relaxed her grip obediently. “First time, huh?”

 

“No,” Clarke shot back instantly, and then had to struggle not to clamp his head between her thighs as he flickered his tongue rapidly. “Just, uh, last time was a bit – a bit different.”

 

“First time having it done right, then,” Bellamy corrected, almost to himself. Clarke whimpered at the lack of contact and pushed his mouth back down against her clit. She could feel him grinning, and it was infuriating. Then he traced figure eights over her and she fell apart completely, writhing beneath his tongue.

 

“A little less,” she whimpered, and he softened the pressure. “Yeah, much better,” Clarke sighed happily.

 

“I don’t actually need directions, alright, Clarke?” Bellamy said, after a few minutes. He’d clearly been thinking about it, and had finally got too annoyed to stay silent any longer. Clarke groaned, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. She’d been really close – hands-clenched-toes-curled close, in fact.

 

“You were doing really well until you stopped,” she told him, putting on her best patronising tone. Bellamy sat up, wiping his chin, and crawled on hands and knees until he was directly over her. Clarke felt her breath hitch in her chest, but all he did was lean down close to her and trace her lips with his tongue. She could taste herself, she realised, and felt as if she was blushing hot enough to light up the entire camp.

 

“I’m not really one for following orders,” Bellamy admitted, breaking the tension, and Clarke rolled her eyes.

 

“You don’t say,” she muttered, running her hands down his shoulders as she pulled him closer. They came together again, the hard jut of his cock fitting against her folds. She was wet enough to soak through his underwear, and he swore quietly, thumbing it down just enough that he could push against her without anything between them. Bellamy’s grip on her hips was almost painful as he rubbed the head of his dick against her clit, deliberately avoiding fucking into her.

 

“Last chance,” he told her, and Clarke wanted it but didn’t – caught between options, desperate for anything. She reached down, wrapping her hand around his dick, and began to slowly jerk him off. “I had no idea you could be so cruel,” Bellamy said tightly, his whole body taut like a cable.

 

“Bellamy,” Clarke sighed, as he slid two fingers inside her, matching the rhythm she’d started; “shut the fuck up.”

 

He did just that, rubbing the pad of his thumb against her clit. She clenched down around his fingers, the heat at the back of her neck sliding like fire down her spine, and hoped what she was doing felt as good for him. Judging by the noises he made, it did. He grabbed her hand, linking their fingers together, and she kissed him.

 

Bellamy tasted like salt and musk, like both of them together, and it made her head spin. It was difficult to think of the reasons why they hadn’t done this before, really. She bit his bottom lip, sucked it into her mouth like she’d wanted to for days, twisting her wrist so he moaned into the kiss. Clarke grinned, opening up to him, letting him plunder her mouth.

 

He came then, hard and hot and messy, all over her stomach. Clarke didn’t have time to be amused that he was first, so desperate and on the edge that all she could do was whimper. Her hand was covered in her own slickness and his come but Bellamy didn’t care, just sucked her fingers – and fuck, that felt good – before returning to lick her clit, still crooking his fingers inside her. He sucked gently at her, tracing figure eights again, and Clarke felt the hot rasp of his stubble against her thighs as she came.

 

“You had to get it all over my stomach, didn’t you?” she asked, later.

 

“I wasn’t exactly concerned with aim,” Bellamy grouched, but he used his boxers to clean her up. Clarke wanted to laugh, but settled for wrapping herself around him as they fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

The morning brought her swiftly into acquaintance with the fact that Bellamy’s face was pressed up against her chest, one hand possessively draped over her breasts, and that his breath was tickling her.

 

“Gerroff,” she muttered, pushing him away, but apparently he was also cuddly because he just tugged her closer. Clarke wriggled uncomfortably and got free, pushing his sleep-warm limbs away as she staggered up.

 

“No, c’mere,” he groaned, reaching blindly for her.

 

“I have to pee,” she hissed, and struggled into her clothes. She made her way slowly out into the morning to relieve herself, and then realised that she didn’t feel sick. Clarke stared at their tent, mouth hanging open, and then almost ran back. “Bellamy,” she said, shaking him awake, “Bellamy, it didn’t hurt!”

 

“That’s nice,” he mumbled, dragging her back into the covers. “Go back to sleep.” Clarke found herself pressed up against his chest, hair in her mouth.

 

“No,” she insisted, pushing herself away angrily. “I was more than five feet and it didn’t hurt us! It’s over!”

 

He sat up slowly, yawning. “Oh, right.” He blinked, and then stared at her as the words sunk in. “It’s over?”

 

She beamed, and then suddenly felt very empty. “So, uh, I’ll get my stuff and go. If that’s alright?”

 

The silence stretched for a moment. Bellamy’s expression flickered between calculating and devious.  

 

“It’s early,” he said eventually, looking contemplatively at the bed. “Sleep a bit longer. Then decide about distance.”

 

It was early, she thought. A few hours more wouldn’t hurt. She didn’t want to wake up in pain again, anyway. “Fine,” she acquiesced, “a bit longer. Just in case it comes back.”

 

“Just in case it comes back,” he agreed, and wrapped her back into the warmth of him. Clarke didn’t mention that they didn’t need to be skin-close. It didn’t seem strictly necessary to bring it up just then, she reasoned. Not when he looked so tired.  

 

* * *

 

“So, what, that’s it?”

 

Finn’s expression was almost comical, Clarke thought. She rocked on the balls of her feet, stretching her back a little, and caught Bellamy’s eye. They suppressed matching smirks.

 

Oh dear, Clarke thought. This was certainly going to end badly. He was probably untrustworthy, had deep-set issues, and had suffered some sort of weird proximity curse with her.

 

But he also made her laugh, at the most unexpected times, and she really wanted to make him come again.

 

“Clarke?” Wells was staring at her.

 

“Yeah,” she shrugged, attempting to sound normal. “I guess it just passed.” Bellamy cleared his throat.

 

“Takes a few days, that’s all,” he added.

 

No one else seemed convinced, but then a disturbance at the edge of the clearing caught everyone’s attention. Octavia hobbled into view, Atom’s arm around her shoulder, both of them looking pale and wobbly.

 

“It’s the same thing,” she wheezed, as they both collapsed by the fire. “We both just started throwing up when we got too far apart.” She looked desperately up at Clarke. “How the hell do we get rid of it?”

 

Clarke opened her mouth to answer, and then paused, sneaking a look at Bellamy.

 

“Oh, fuck no,” Bellamy scowled.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i strongly and vehemently blame [beth](http://sometimenever.tumblr.com). if you want to talk to me you can find me [here](http://nexilis.tumblr.com). [tumblr fic post](http://nexilis.tumblr.com/post/94348214305/close-encounters-of-the-nerd-kind-bellamy). comments, likes, reblogs, kudos, etc are all really lovely and will make writing this fucking presentation a lot more bearable. 
> 
> if you made it to the end of this, then thanks. also: i can't explain how fucking chuffed i am with the title. like, i'm really happy i thought of that. i know it's dumb.


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